


Like Best Friends Do

by LittleLynn



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley lies about having a boyfriend, Explicit Sexual Content, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Oblivious Crowley, Pining, and ends up begging aziraphale to back him up on the bi-annual crowley family holiday, you know standard fic stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-13 17:15:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21001280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleLynn/pseuds/LittleLynn
Summary: As usual, Crowley had decided to open his mouth before thinking about what exactly it was that he was about to let spill forth from it. As a result of this, unsurprisingly, he was now in a spot of hot water. Boiling water. Possibly water so hot that it had gone ahead and become some kind of pyroclastic steam.At least Aziraphale could usually be relied upon to take pity on him. This was a big ask though, even by Crowley's please-let-me-keep-empty-aerosol-cans-in-your-cellar-it's-nothing-illegal-I-swear standards. This was, without a doubt, a bigger ask than the aerosol cans.





	Like Best Friends Do

**Author's Note:**

> Phew, so running and participating in this mini bang has been a very fun experience, and I want to thank everyone who participated! 
> 
> Everyone go give some love to the lovely [SgtNarlato](http://aminoapps.com/p/uh97p2) who did the lovely art in the fic <3 and I hope you all enjoy the story!

As usual, Crowley had decided to open his mouth before thinking about what exactly it was that he was about to let spill forth from it. As a result of this, unsurprisingly, he was now in a spot of hot water. Boiling water. Possibly water so hot that it had gone ahead and become some kind of pyroclastic steam.

At least Aziraphale could usually be relied upon to take pity on him. This was a big ask though, even by Crowley's please-let-me-keep-empty-aerosol-cans-in-your-cellar-it's-nothing-illegal-I-swear standards. This was, without a doubt, a bigger ask than the aerosol cans had been (were? Honestly Crowley couldn't remember if he had ever retrieved them or not).

"Sorry my dear, I'm not quite sure I heard you right?" Aziraphale said, blinking innocently at him in that way of his, all fluttery eyelashes and baby blues.

Crowley sighed and berated himself internally for dragging Aziraphale into this.

"I said, will you pretend to be my boyfriend and come on my family vacation with me?" Crowley repeated himself, despite being mostly sure that Aziraphale had heard him the first time, and was just having trouble processing the utter nonsense Crowley was asking of him.

"Yes, I thought that was what you said." Aziraphale answered, finally setting his bookmark into between the pages and setting the ridiculously tatty and old tome down. "I must ask why you need me to do such a thing." Aziraphale requested, and Crowley sighed, because it really was only fair and expected that his friend might want to know. But he had still been harbouring hope that he would get away without having to explain himself.

Because whilst lying to his mother was par for the course, doing such a thing to Aziraphale was frankly not even worthy of consideration.

What had happened was simple. Ever the disappointing child, and while enduring a lecture from his dear mother on how he was in his forties now and _ really _ should have settled down by now with some nice girl - or boy! His mother was always careful to try to be inclusive, bless her soul - Crowley had finally snapped and blurted out that actually he was seeing someone, just so that he didn't have to listen to the 'you should be settled by now’ spiel again.

However then had come the real problem. Because his mother had lit up like Crowley had previously imagined only a personal letter from the queen might manage, smiled at Crowley and asked excitedly who it was.

Naturally Crowley had panicked, and as he had one friend on this entire earth, blurted his name out.

Which was what had ultimately led to his current predicament; that being his mother being absolutely delighted to hear that he and Aziraphale had 'finally' settled down like she 'always knew they would', and was expecting them both to join them on the bi-annual Crowley family retreat. She had even said that she 'wouldn't take no for an answer', and when Mrs Crowley said that, she meant it.

So Crowley told Aziraphale the truth, because he was never able to tell him anything else, and if he was going to go along with it, then he needed to know the truth anyway.

"Goodness me dear, what have you gotten yourself into this time." Aziraphale shook his head, Crowley clung to the notion that it was affectionate exasperation instead of 'why do I put up with this nonsense' exasperation. "Why didn't you simply tell your mother the truth, or if that really wasn't an option, then why not tell her that you're with someone in one of those long distance arrangements, then she wouldn't find it odd that she couldn't meet them."

"I don't know, I just panicked, said the first person who came into my head."

"And I was the first person who came into your head when caught with the question; who should I pretend to be dating?" Aziraphale raised an eyebrow, Crowley managed not to say that honestly Aziraphale was the first person that he thought of in the vast majority of scenarios, regardless of context.

"Apparently so, yes. Honestly Aziraphale I don't exactly hang out with many people besides you."

"You are becoming dreadfully antisocial in your old age," Aziraphale teased, giving Crowley an indulgent little smile that he usually saved for cake.

"You're older than me," Crowley huffed, feeling just a touch put out.

"Oh hush, only by a year or two," Aziraphale protested (it was three years and they both knew it).

"Yeah yeah, and you've always been old at heart and you wear it so well blah blah." Crowley went through the motions of complimenting Aziraphale, as if they weren't all things he heartily meant, and Aziraphale's face scrunched up into a smile, as if they weren't things he'd heard Crowley say a thousand times before.

"I do don't I."

"So will you do it?"

"Of course I will, though I think you need to start thinking before you speak dear." Aziraphale replied, patting Crowley’s hands affectionately and making him feel as though a ridiculously large weight had just been lifted from his shoulders. (The weight was his mother's expectations). "When is this holiday of yours then?"

"In a couple of weeks." Crowley answered, a touch grimly, it would have been polite to give Aziraphale more notice, but he hadn't actually planned this whole catastrophe in advance, so a fortnight as all he was getting. Besides, it wasn't like Aziraphale needed any notice to get time off from work, he owned the bookshop and opened and closed the place entirely at random anyway.

A large inheritance from a distant and deceased relative, and what does he use it to do? Run the least productive bookshop in London. And that was saying something, Crowley had once seen a bookshop dedicated entirely to the lifecycle of flies. What was keeping that place aflot he would never know.

"Not long to plan then."

"Plan what?"

"Well, the story of course. We can't be telling your mother two different tales of how we ended up together after all these years," Aziraphale reasoned.

"I hadn't thought of that."

"You not thinking things through properly is becoming something of a theme dear. We should work on it."

"The story or my not thinking things through?"

"Both preferably. But the more urgent of the two is the sordid tale of how, after all these years, the two of us wound up courting." Aziraphale replied, and said the word 'courting' completely unironically because of course he did.

"No one says courting anymore Aziraphale."

"On the contrary, I say it, therefore you are incorrect." He replied, looking far too smug for such a small win, Crowley rolled his eyes to somewhat mask his smile. "Regardless of my vocabulary, the problem at hand?"

"Does it really need to be a whole story? Can't we just say, I don't know, that one of us woke up one morning and smelled the roses, perfume? Whatever that saying is, you know what I mean."

"I'm afraid that just won't do. If you've made me wait around this long for you then I expect to have been swept off my feet rather thoroughly."

"I thought you didn't approve of lying." Crowley raised an eyebrow, Aziraphale had the good grace to look slightly abashed at least.

"Well, it's your lie really, not mine. I'm just trying to make sure it's worth lying over." Aziraphale, defended, weakly. Crowley didn't really mind, if Aziraphale wanted to be fictitiously swept off his feet then Crowley would make that happen. How his friend hadn't actually been swept off his feet yet would always be a mystery to him. It was perfectly obvious to Crowley that Aziraphale was a catch that was far too good for most people. yet here he was, a forty-five year old bachelor.

However, looking around the musty old shop one could be forgiven for believing that a ninety-year old hermit lived here, perhaps that was the problem.

"Fine fine. How about this, while being too engrossed in my phone I got myself clipped by a lunatic bus driver, this prompted a sort of, sudden moment of clarity in which I realised I was wasting my life alone when I should be romancing you?" Crowley suggested, it sounded dumb aloud, though it had also sounded dumb in his head.

"No. I don't like the thought of you getting hurt," Aziraphale said, but then ploughed on before Crowley had a chance to start unpacking that. "Perhaps I started dating someone, and you got a little jealous."

"I wouldn't get jealous," Crowley bristled, crossing his arms, it made Aziraphale laugh.

"Oh yes you would. You should see your face whenever I tell you sorry but I can't go to the park with you today, I'm spending some time with my brother. I daren't think what you would be like with someone you were romantically inclined towards."

"Well that's just because Gabriel is a dick."

"Be that as it may, you do have a possessive side my dear." Aziraphale replied, Crowley bristled a little, recalled his last couple of relationships - few and far between that they were - and was quite certain he had never been at all bothered when they had picked someone else's company over his. But still, it was only a harmless story, and one his mother would probably find a little charming, so where was the harm.

"Fine, you were seeing some guy who clearly wasn't good enough for you and it put a few things into perspective for me - good enough?"

"Well it's a little lacking on the details. What did you do to woo me over to you? Were there flowers? Romantic declarations? Dancing? Intimate dinners for just the two of us? Oh poetry! You do know how I love poetry." Aziraphale finished a little dreamily, before shaking himself. "Sorry, got a little carried away."

"Angel if that's what you want, then that's what you'll get. I bought you flowers, I sabotaged your dates, I wrote you sonnets and I confessed dramatically under the stars. On a bridge. In the rain."

"Sounds perfect." Aziraphale said, clasping his hands together happily, Crowley had been somewhat kidding. "Now, I think you should take me out on a nice romantic lunch to thank me for agreeing to come on holiday with you and your family." Aziraphale said cheekily, pulling on his coat.

"Whatever you say angel." Crowley smiled, offering Azriaphale his arm, which he took with more of an exaggerated flourish than usual.

After lunch, The Ritz, which somehow Aziraphale always seemed to have a reservation at - Crowley suspected the maître'd had a little crush on Aziraphale, and sent him a suitable glare when Aziraphale's back was turned - Crowley called his mother to assure her that yes Aziraphale was able to make it.

Well, Crowley attempted to make the call, it was quickly co-opted by his mother asking if Aziraphale was there and then insisting on being allowed to talk to him, at which point Crowley got the pleasure of listening to one side of a conversation about himself - never where someone wanted to be.

When they were done, almost fifteen whole minutes later - Crowley couldn't remember the last time he had fifteen minutes worth of material to entertain his notoriously flaky mother with - Crowley frowned at Aziraphale.

"Don't pout dear, it isn't becoming." Aziraphale berated him primly and effectively, Crowley shrugging off the expression and pocketing his phone, pleased when Aziraphale took the turning for St James' Park, it meant that he wasn't quite ready to go their separate ways either yet. "Do you have anything for the ducks?"

"No, sorry." Crowley apologised, he really should be more prepared by now, impromptu duck feedings were hardly a rare occurrence.

"No matter, we wouldn't want to overfeed them." Aziraphale said, but Crowley could tell that he really was disappointed, and stopped by one of the kiosks to get some bird feed as Aziraphale beamed at him.

"We need to fatten them up before we disappear for a month. I wonder if they'll miss us."

"A month really is a very long time to be around family, though I suppose this year at least I don't have to miss you while you're gone. Why do you all go for so long?" Aziraphale asked, scattering some seeds for the ducks.

"Just a tradition I guess, we've got a holiday home down there and father always used to rant that we weren't getting any value for money unless we actually spent some time down there, so we ended up being dragged down there for the whole of August every other year. It just sort of continued even when we grew up. Now I'm pretty sure I'd be disowned from the family if I didn't go. Though now I think about it that might not be so bad..."

"Oh psh, your family is lovely." Aziraphale chided.

"Only compared to Gabe, and that's a low bar." Crowley countered, and it was enough to get a chuckle out of Aziraphale.

"Yes well. All that aside we are going, so what sort of things do I need to pack for a holiday with the Crowley's?"

"Whatever really, you don't need to go crazy because you can wash your clothes there. But we both know summers here can be a bit hit and miss, and it gets cold on the coast so bring a jumper or two," Crowley suggested, even though Aziraphale usually managed to wear sweater vests throughout the entirety of summer anyway, regardless of the heat. "Beach stuff, hiking stuff, honestly I never have any idea what nonsense my mother is going to have planned for us until we get there."

"Well, it sounds like a lot of fun anyway, I'm looking forward to it." Aziraphale smiled up at him, and Crowley was actually fairly sure he was being genuine. Likely just because he had no idea what a holiday around his family was actually like, but it was sweet all the same.

They finished feeding the ducks and Crowley asked if Aziraphale thought that the little quackers would miss them when they were gone, which sparked an entirely superfluous but no less amusing debate about just how much cognition ducks had, and whether or not they felt any emotions at all. Crowley was on the side of stop being such a sentimental sap Aziraphale, while also secretly liking the idea that the ducks might miss them. He probably needed to get out more.

The next two weeks passed by relatively quickly and without incident. Crowley got on top of his work, promising his boss to keep his phone on while he was gone just in case he was needed. He took most of the month on unpaid leave, because using up his available holiday to get nagged by his family was just depressing. He'd already made his quarterly goals so it was hardly a big deal that he was going to be off. Or at least, his boss didn't kick up a fuss in fear that he would just quit.

Why wasn't that something his family could focus on; he had a lucrative job and was good at it. No, instead they fixated on his lack of a love life.

Well, not this year anyway.

The fortnight had been peppered with calls from his mother asking things like if Aziraphale had any allergies, did he like dogs, what foods didn't he like, what foods did he like, did he like activities or quiet time on the beach. Crowley reminded her several times that Aziraphale was a grown man, not a school friend of Crowley's that his mother needed to cater for and look after.

He'd also seen Aziraphale most days, because in general he did see Aziraphale most days in his life, but the content of what they discussed shifted a little from their usual topics out into what they could do on the holiday, if Crowley's mother ever let them out of her sight. Crowley honestly had no idea, he'd never brought a significant other home with him before, how she was going to react was beyond him.

Before Crowley knew it - or was mentally prepared for it - he was pulling up outside Azirphale's bookshop in his Bentley and tooting the horn to let Aziraphale know he had arrived.

There was a little sign in the window of the shop which made him chuckle, it read:

Greetings bookish people of London, I am not at home, nor shall I be until the end of the month. As such the bookshop will not be open, which is a sad thing in some ways, but at least for once I have been able to clearly state when the bookshop will be closed. Though I cannot say when it will be open again, as I may be tired when I return, and not open the shop for a few days.

Crowley rolled his eyes and took the note, because announcing to the entirety of London that your antique, rare and valuable bookshop was going to be empty and unattended for a month was probably not the wisest thing Aziraphale had ever done.

After a few moments of no Aziraphale, Crowley locked up the car and barged into the shop, immediately spotting Aziraphale struggling down the steep stairs which led from the shop up into his pokey little flat, with a suitcase which looked like it was last used in the war. The first one.

"You alright there angel?" Crowley asked, standing at the bottom of the stairs, ready to catch Aziraphale were he to trip the rest of the way, which seemed like it was a rather likely possibility.

"Yes yes, not to worry, these blasted stairs are just a little narrow," Aziraphale waved him off, which made him lose his grip on the case a little and wobble precariously, but he made it down in one piece, at which point Crowley took the case off of him, even though Aziraphale was easily stronger than he was, to whatever extent either of them could be considered strong anyway.

Crowley loaded the case into the backseat of the Bentley, next to his own far more modern case. They looked almost as mismatched as he and Aziraphale did, he sort of loved it.

"Buckle up then, this is going to be a long trip." Crowley said, though by leaving London they would be heading in the opposite direction to the vast majority of traffic, there was no such thing as a quick drive from London to anywhere. Flaming motorways.

Time spent driving with Aziraphale always passed painlessly though, even if all of his CD's except the Greatest Hits of Queen appeared to have vanished _ again _, leaving them listening to nothing but that the entire way, as neither of them could stand the radio. Aziraphale seemed happy enough to hum along slightly out of tune though, so Crowley didn't worry about it too much.

"I know it's around here somewhere," Crowley muttered when they reached the South Downs, driving around in circles on backwards coastal roads he somewhat recognised, wincing every time a bramble scraped along the outside of his car and refusing to Google where exactly the cottage was because he'd been there enough times in his life he should know by now. "Ha!" Crowley shouted, victorious as the little cottage he knew well came into view, the sea yawning out behind it, sparkling in the afternoon sun.

"Oh my that's _ lovely _," Aziraphale breathed, and Crowley found himself happy that the first impression was a good one.

The cottage did look nice, Crowley knew that, even his ungrateful, moody, thirteen year old self had been able to admit that it was a very picturesque cottage, even if he had no desire to be there.

It was set into the coastal countryside well, looking completely at home there, ivy crawling up the walls (pretty but also probably causing damage to the walls, but oh well, out of sight out of mind, that was the Crowley family way). Crowley didn't know exactly how old it was, beyond definitely not built this century, and in hindsight Aziraphale had always liked old things, so his first reaction wasn't all that surprising. No less appreciated though.

"I'm glad you like it," Crowley grinned, pulling up onto the drive, spying three cars he recognised already parked up around the place, his parents, his brother and his sister all already arrived then, great.

He parked up the Bentley, as far away from any potentially scratchy foliage or other car doors as possible (his brother was many things and careful about other people's possessions was not one), shutting the door loud enough to startle Jasper, the symphony of barking that he dutifully began an effective way to alert the whole family of his arrival.

He was pulling their cases out of the car when he heard the front door open and frantic paws charging down the little stone pavement that led from the drive to the door.

"Oh Jasper I've missed you, what a good boy you are," Aziraphale laughed, crouched on the ground beside Crowley, arms stretched wide to catch - and catch he did- thirty kilograms of over-excited Labrador. He ruffled the dogs neck kissed his head and got his face licked in thanks, smiling the whole way through it.

Eventually the dog climbed off of Aziraphale and tackled Crowley instead, jumping up - thankfully Crowley had braced himself for this and did not end up on the floor - and wagging his tail so hard his entire furry body was wiggling.

"Yeah I missed you too bud," Crowley admitted, patting the dog, who thankfully got down, offering Aziraphale a superfluous hand to help him off the floor and then wondering for a split second why Aziraphale was still holding on, before noticing that his mother was now in view.

"Anthony!" She cried, as if she hadn't seen him in ten years (it had been two months), opening her arms and pulling him into a hug, which he accepted, along with a far more reserved slap on the shoulder from his father. "And Aziraphale of course, so lovely to see you again dear." She said pulling Aziraphale into one of her hugs as well, not that he seemed to mind, beyond his slight hesitancy to release Crowley's hand.

_(Art by [SgtNarlato](http://aminoapps.com/p/uh97p2))_

"Thank you for inviting me, Elaine," Aziraphale said politely, having been on a first name basis with Crowley's mother for a long time now. Apparently calling her Mrs Crowley had been strange, given that Crowley liked to be referred to by Crowley, not Anthony, Crowley couldn't really disagree with that.

"Oh of course dear, we should have been inviting you for years, didn't I say, didn't I _ always _ say Robert that these two were going to end up together. A mother always knows." She said, squeezing Crowley's cheek like he was still four years old, at least he looked like he was squirming from that and not what she was saying.

"Yes dear," Crowley's father said absently, before offering Aziraphale an absent hand to shake.

"Yeah well, Tilly and Scott not coming out to say hi?" Crowley changed the subject.

"Oh no, they've walked into town to pick up what we need for dinner," his mother replied, damn, Crowley thought, he had hoped that they'd be given that errand, but he should have known that his mother would be wanting to grill them. "Now Anthony you be a gentleman and take Aziraphale's bags up to your room would you."

It was a clear ploy to get Aziraphale alone for a moment, but there also wasn't an awful lot Crowley could do about that without reverting to being a fifteen year old child stamping his feet and refusing to do as his mother told him, with an added level of making it seem as though he didn't want to carry the bags of his significant other.

Which was ridiculous really, Crowley carried things for Aziraphale all of the time anyway, without needing to be asked by his mother, thank you very much.

So Crowley picked up the bags - all of them at once for speed - and hiked his way inelegantly up the overly steep steps of the cottage, while his mother took Aziraphale into the kitchen. Thankfully, Aziraphale didn't look particularly alarmed, he had always gotten along with Crowley's mother unreasonably well, but at least he had always taken Crowley's side.

Crowley kicked open the door to the room that was ostensibly 'his' whenever they were at the cottage and was swiftly reminded of the fact that though he had an adult bed here, it was only a double, not the usual king he had at home which he and Aziraphale had occasionally shared after one too many at his flat. Crowley decided not to worry about it, it would be cosy and convincing, and it got fucking cold in the cottage, even if he was supposed to be the middle of summer.

Crowley dumped their bags at the foot of the bed and whirled around, hoping that his mother hadn't managed to say anything too embarrassing to Aziraphale in the past two minutes.

Crowley was relieved, when he sauntered into the kitchen - doing his best to pretend that he had not in fact just run back down the stairs, though they had probably all heard him - to find that his mother was pouring Aziraphale a cup of tea and asking him about his shop. Crowley paused for a moment, watching his mother and Aziraphale have tea, Jasper curled up near Aziraphale's feet, his father reading the paper just off to the side. It was nice.

Or it was nice, until the sounds of his bickering siblings came crashing through the door. Honestly he wasn't sure what was worse, the older sister or the younger brother, he had the worst of both worlds. Although having said that, Aziraphale's older brother was a dick, so maybe there was no good world regarding annoying siblings. Maybe all siblings were annoying. Maybe _ he _was annoying, unlikely as that seemed, Crowley decided to allow the possibility.

He couldn't even work out what his siblings were saying, they'd reached a level of high pitched shrill he was fairly sure only dogs could properly hear it, and he patted Jasper on the head in sympathy.

"Tilly, Scott, please. You are adults," his father chided with a tired voice, "you have children of your own, stop acting like them."

"Fine, but it was Scott that forgot to pick up the bread, not me, I was on veg and meat, he was on everything else," Tilly said snittily, placing her bags on the counter.

"Where are your kids Til and your husband for that matter, or has he finally run away screaming?" Crowley asked, poking through the shopping and getting a rap on his knuckles from his mother.

"Oh shut up Ant real original. Nigel has taken them for a walk, they both felt sick after spending so long in the car," Til replied, Crowley shrugged and pointedly didn't ask his brother where his kids were, not willing to subject his brother to their mothers' 'oh are you sure you can't patch things up with Kathy, she is such a nice girl' lecture, no matter how annoying he is. If Scott's kids weren't here then they were with his ex-wife and it was part of the sibling code not to bring it up.

They both greeted Aziraphale far more politely than they had him, saying how nice it was to see him again after so long and that he should get as far away from Crowley as he could before there would be paperwork involved, charming really.

But all in all the day wasn't that painful, his family excepted the story of how they wound up together without complaint, because honestly why would they complain. Except for Nigel, who got a very confused look on his face and said he thought they'd been together for ages. But then Nigel never had been good at keeping up with the Crowley's.

Towards the evening, Crowley managed to score the pair of them a breather from his family - and the incessant noise two children under the age of ten were able to create - by offering to walk Jasper. It had the added perk of meaning that they were not required to help with dinner preparation, which was not something either of them were very good at, thus why they chose to eat out so often.

"Sorry about all that," Crowley felt compelled to apologise as they left the house, hand in hand, which had made his mother coo, despite not being an unusual thing for them to do anyway.

"There is nothing to be sorry for, your family is quite charming," Aziraphale replied, not letting Jasper pull him along, no matter how much he was tugging on the end of his lead.

"Charming is not the word I would use," Crowley scrunched his face up, thinking about how loud they were, how much the bickered, how much his mother liked to interfere.

"Perhaps not to you, but my family is very cold. We would never have a holiday like this, when we do see each other its suits and champagne and handshakes, not bickering and home cooking and hugs." Aziraphale explained, and Crowley squeezed his hand, he did _ not _ like Azirapahle's family.

"Yeah. I suppose that would be worse. But at least the champagne is actually good." Crowley replied, getting a small chuckle out of Aziraphale.

"Yes well, I was wondering how I could thank your family for inviting me on this lovely trip, perhaps we should provide the drink, that way we can make sure it's a good vintage," Aziraphale suggested, and Crowley altered their dog walking route to include going past the local high end alcohol shop.

When they reached it, Crowley waited outside with Jasper (a strong dog tail going at 100mph was not something that one wanted around expensive glass bottles, even if they would have let him in), after Aziraphale insisted on buying, not that it would hugely matter in the long run, they were always relaxed over who picked up the bill, in all things.

On the way back, Crowley yawned and promptly remembered the sleeping arrangements, and that he should probably give Aziraphale something of a warning about that.

"I meant to say, we're in my old room, or well the room that I use when we're here."

"I had assumed we would be," Aziraphale replied with a smile, praising Jasper when he sat dutifully at the curb before going across.

"Yeah well, I'd forgotten that the bed isn't all that big. There's room for us both, but it's uh, going to be cosy." Crowley explained, shifting the way he was holding all the alcohol, mostly because it was bloody heavy.

"I don't see why that should be an issue," Aziraphale replied, after a short pause, Crowley wished he had a way of knowing what went through his head during that pause. "Besides, considering our story I'm sure your mother hasn't even thought about it being an issue, neither of us are particularly big, lanky as you are dear."

"Yeah well, I don't want you to feel like you have to do anything that might make you uncomfortable, I can sleep on the floor if you like."

"Nonsense, I won't kick you out of your own bed. besides, we've shared a bed before, I'm not sure you could make me uncomfortable if you tried dear." Aziraphale smiled softly at him, squeezing his hand and making something Crowley couldn’t quite name well up in his throat. 

"Fine, but if you get there and you see the bed and how, uh, not very spacious it is, and decide it would make you uncomfortable, then you need to tell me, alright angel?"

"Alright," Aziraphale smiled, and Crowley got the distinct impression that it really was not going to be a problem.

Their walk with Jasper had been long, Crowley opting for the long way around, mainly so that Aziraphale would get to walk along the most beautiful parts of the local coast; but also so that they wouldn't have to help with cooking dinner at all - they were both more likely to burn down the cottage than produce any edible food, but his mother was unlikely to believe that, past proof be dammed.

"Wash up for dinner boys, and get something for the dog!" Crowley's mother called in greeting as soon as they walked through the front door.

Crowley went to find dog biscuits for Jasper while they ate, faintly hearing his mother's 'oh Aziraphale you're such a sweet boy you shouldn't haves' when Aziraphale presented her with the wine he had bought. Crowley smiled, now that he wasn't a teenager anymore he supposed he could admit that his mother being so fond of Aziraphale was quite nice.

Dinner was a delicious affair, even if it wasn't exactly the season for a roast dinner, it was something of a Crowley family tradition to have one on the first night of the holiday, and this year was no different. The conversation was hectic and filled with the kind of digs family make at each other, treading a very thin line between loving banter and moderately offensive interrogation.

"So, when's the wedding?" Crowley's delightful sister piped up at one point, looking smug and Crowley's no-doubt panicked expression. Aziraphale saved him, because Aziraphale always saved him.

"Oh we've not been thinking about that yet. We only became romantic recently," Aziraphale replied, covering Crowley's hand with his own. His delightful sister snorted in response, much to the amusement of her own children.

"Pretty sure you two have been romantic since you met," she grinned, Crowley tensed, it wasn't like that, Aziraphale was his best friend, had been since he was thirteen years old, of course he loved him. But romance, romance was, well it was different.

Aziraphale saved him with a chuckle, because of course he did.

"Well, we were always very close but I'm afraid it took us rather a while to work it out." Aziraphale lied easily, Crowley was surprised at the ease with which his usually very honest friend said it.

"You say that, but I mean, Ant, there were _ bet _ s _ . _Mother was genuinely betting that you two had been together all along and were just being secretive about it because you're a bit weird - no offence Aziraphale, but Ant is a bit weird - and she wasn't the only one." Tilly pressed, because Tilly was like that.

"Well, I guess you lost a bit of money then mum, sorry about that." Crowley replied, aiming for nonchalance and probably missing by a mile. His mother muttered something that could have been 'we'll see about that' but Crowley decided not to find out if that were true or what she meant.

Tilly opened her mouth to speak again, but was thwarted by one of her spawn hitting the other and starting to fight. Perhaps children weren't so bad after all.

The rest of the meal passed blissfully without incident, Crowley's father politely asking after Aziraphale's work and family, Crowley tried to not fall into a grump over the fact that they never asked him about his work. He also didn't butt in when Aziraphale said some entirely undeserved nice things about his family, because Crowley had known Aziraphale long enough to know that his friend didn't like people knowing that his home life was a rather cold and unloving place. Though Crowley supposed that for at least two decades now Crowley had been Aziraphale's home life, and it was neither cold nor unloving, even if they didn't share the same house.

It made Crowley wonder for a second why it was that they didn't share the same house, it would only make sense, they shared everything else. It would just mean that Crowley didn't have to fight the morning traffic - be that foot or road, the only constant in London was traffic, no matter what mode of transport you were using - to get over to see him every day. He'd bring it up later when they were alone, because clearly it made sense, but the idea of having that conversation in front of his mother was, frankly, horrifying.

After dinner was a relatively sedated affair for everyone other than Tilly and Nigel, who had to battle two hyperactive children into going to sleep. They played some cards, Crowley absolutely delighted to find that Aziraphale was far better than the rest of them combined, absolutely wiping the floor with everyone at every single game that didn't revolve solely around luck of the deal.

Soon enough, everyone was heading up to bed, and Crowley was tired enough that he didn't remember the bed problem until it was right in front of him again. Then again, Aziraphale had said it wasn't going to be a problem.

He seemed to mean it as well, not hesitating at the size, just puttering into the en suite bathroom to brush his teeth and change into his adorable plaid pyjamas. By the time they were settling into bed together, Crowley decided that he really had been worried about nothing .

They couldn't sleep without touching each other, not without hanging precariously close to the edge, which seemed stupid given that Aziraphale clearly didn't have a problem with the proximity, already propped up in bed and reading his book.

"What're you reading?" Crowley asked, he could never keep up, Aziraphale devoured too many books too quickly for him to ever have any idea what he was reading, but Azriaphale always lent him the ones he thought Crowley would enjoy, and he did always enjoy them.

"Emma," Aziraphale replied, somehow managing to speak and read as he turned the page, it was one of his many super powers.

"You've read that before."

"I enjoy it."

"Read to me?" Crowley asked and Aziraphale smiled indulgently, started reading aloud as soon as he was asked, letting Crowley lie down next to him, tuck his head against Aziraphale's hip without a thought, Aziraphale's hand stroking through his hair almost immediately. They did this a lot, at Crowley's flat, Aziraphale's house above the shop, in the park; wherever really.

For a while in his twenties, Crowley had suffered from insomnia, discovering after a few incidents that curling up next to Aziraphale and listening to his read was a sure fire way to get him to fall asleep. Not because Aziraphale was boring of course - though what he read often was - but he had a lovely voice, and Crowley felt undeniably safe when tucked in beside him.

"'I cannot make speeches, Emma...If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more. But you know what I am. You hear nothing but truth from me. I have blamed you, and lectured you, and you have borne it as no other woman in England would have borne it...'" Aziraphale recited from the book, Crowley fell asleep before he could finish the page.

Waking up in the cottage had always been an unpleasant affair in the past; invariably woken up by one of his parents, or, as had been the case in more recent years, the clamour of young children waking up filled with more energy than Crowley felt he had ever had in his entire life.

This morning was different, he was still woken by an argument erupting between his niece and nephew, but this time there was an arm around his waist, warm breath blowing into his hair, and legs tangled with his own. Something impossibly warm washed over Crowley at the sensation, he decided to enjoy it, and ignore it all at once.

The yelling eventually woke Aziraphale as well, who made a frustrated little groan in the back of his throat as he was dragging into the waking world. Crowley had been abstractly worried that Aziraphale might let go of him as soon as he woke up, it was just nice to be held, he supposed, it had been a very long time, but Aziraphale didn't, just squeezed him gently around the middle in a tired morning greeting.

"Morning," Crowley managed, a yawn following the words unbidden, Aziraphale just made a disgruntled sound. His friend did not like mornings, even when he wasn't hung over. "We should probably get up before mother comes hunting for us, she doesn't have a habit of knocking before entering rooms."

"Good job we're not getting up to anything untoward then." Aziraphale joked lightly, voice thick with sleep, and Crowley wondered what exactly the feeling his words made coil in his gut was exactly. Probably just horror at the idea of his mother walking in on him with a partner.

"Yeah, good job." Crowley agreed, his voice sounded weird to his own ears. He hated mornings.

Reluctantly, Crowley dragged himself out of the bed and the cradle of Aziraphale's arms - though not without a fight, Aziraphale attempting to hold onto him and whinge about five more minutes.

"You usually hate mornings too," Aziraphale grumped, sitting up in bed and scrubbing at his eyes while Crowley tracked down some clothes for the day with a tight feeling in his chest.

"Yes, because mornings are a hellish, sadistic invention. I just happen to know that the alternative is worse. That being, having an annoyed parent nag you to get up as if you're still a wayward teenager under her control." Crowley explained, Aziraphale smiled and shook his head fondly, but he did get moving, so that was a positive at least.

The day was eventful, because lazy days didn't start to kick in until after the first week of enforced holiday, when everyone was reaching the end of their tether with each other and his mother could once again see the benefits of some quite time for everyone. It was a day filled with all of the kitschy English coastal holiday activities, such as adventure golf and piers that didn't really have anything on them, and getting battered by gale force winds.

But Aziraphale seemed to be enjoying himself, and was utterly charmed by it all, which made Crowley realise - and then feel like an idiot for not realising it sooner - that as previously mentioned, Aziraphale's family were a bunch of cold hearted asshole who wouldn't know a cute family holiday activity if it bit them in the arse, so it likely Aziraphale's first time doing some of these things.

Crowley internally kicked himself for never taking Aziraphale to the beach; it just never occurred to him to take him, as he was forced to spend a whole month at the beach every other year. Seeing how much Aziraphale was enjoying himself, Crowley made the decision to make sure that they did start going to the beach every now and then.

Crowley's father won the adventure golf by taking it far too seriously as he always did and Aziraphale treated everyone to ice cream after buying himself and Crowley one and belatedly realising it was probably a bit rude not to offer to get one for everyone.

"I'm sorry, I'm just so used to buying one for myself and Crowley when we're at the park it didn't even occur to me," Aziraphale apologised, even though it was entirely unnecessary, as he took everyone else's orders. Crowley's mother meanwhile was looking at Aziraphale like he was the son she'd always wanted, not that Crowley really blamed her, in the choice between himself and Aziraphale Crowley knew who he would choose every time, regardless of context.

Aziraphale had his Flake99 as always, eating it with little kitten licks as he always did, careful not to let any run down his hand, and Crowley's ice lolly melted over his hand while he got distracted watching, which was also not a hugely rare occurrence. His friend was just cute with his ice cream.

"Ant, Anthony, _ earth to Anthony _," Tilly smacked him in the arm, and Crowley realised she must have been trying to get his attention for a while.

"What?"

"Nothing, just you know. Put your tongue back in your mouth, there are children present," she snickered, luckily Aziraphale didn't hear her and Crowley floundered, no idea what she was talking about or what to say in response, he looked to his brother for support.

"What, she does kind of have a point Ant." Robert shrugged, fuck Robert, maybe Kathy had been right about him. No, siblingly solidarity, screw Kathy, but Robert was still an idiot.

Crowley just scowled and wandered over to stand with Aziraphale to eat their treats in peace - the relative peace of his father explaining the four key things to remember when playing adventure golf anyway. His father of course forgot the only thing that mattered - have fun.

They ate fish and chips on beach, which always sounds like such a nice idea in theory, but in reality you're fending off aggressive seagulls from all angles and battling sea winds that are helping every chip you bought in it's desperate bid for freedom.

"Oh smile Crowley, I know you like fish and chips," Aziraphale teased, offering Crowley a bite of his cod in exchange for a piece of scampi.

"It's a bit windy," he grumbled, but his heart wasn't in it, too busy stealing a chip from Aziraphale, he always judged the ratio of vinegar to salt to chips better than he did.

"Not to worry, you look quite lovely all windswept," Aziraphale replied, Crowley felt his cheeks heat but wasn't sure why, they complimented each other all the time, they seemed caught in a moment for a little while, that Crowley wasn't sure what to do with.

It was interrupted by Jasper nudging Aziraphale's knee and begging for chips. Probably for the best.

That night Aziraphale didn't read, tried from the active day, used to spending his days inside his shop not out with an active family on the coast. Because he didn't read, Crowley got an answer to the question he'd had that morning; was Aziraphale cuddling him on purpose or had they just wound up that way in the night. As as soon as the light was off and they were settling down he slotted himself up behind Crowley and looped an arm around his waist.

"Is this okay?" He asked, much to Crowley's surprise, wasn't it obvious how very much okay it was.

"Yeah. it's nice," Crowley replied, laying his hand over Aziraphale's, smiling when his friend laced their fingers together. In his sparse and short relationships over the years, he'd never been one for spooning or cuddling during sleep, but with Aziraphale it was different. He was just more comfortable with Aziraphale, he supposed, it felt good, instead of crowding.

They had a lie in that morning, which gave Crowley the entirely false idea that his mother was feeling merciful that day.

The idea was proven to be false that evening, when after dinner his mother, who had been brandishing a camera all day to populate the 2019 Crowley family album, turned to them and said:

"Anthony, give Aziraphale a kiss."

"What? Why." Crowley said, moderately aghast and entirely caught off-guard. It wasn't something he had thought might happen, they were _ English _, English people didn't go around kissing their significant other in public, it just wasn't done.

"Because I think it would make for a very sweet picture and your mother has asked you to. You don't mind do you Aziraphale?" His mother asked sweetly, in thet calculated way that made it difficult to say no.

It _ would _ make for a cute picture, that much was probably true. But it would be less cute by the fact that Aziraphale hadn't wanted to kiss him.

"No, of course not," Aziraphale replied softly, because he was too nice to ever refuse anything. Although he would return expensive food at restaurants if he felt it was below par.

It wasn’t something they had _ never _ done mind you, there had been mistletoe and badly thought out games of spin the bottle and truth or dare in their youth that their old chums had always used as an excuse to get them to kiss, who only knows why that was so amusing to them. 

So it wasn’t something they had never done before, but it wasn’t something that they did often. It had probably been a couple of years since the last mistletoe incident, and now here his mother was, brandishing a camera and telling him to give Aziraphale a kiss. 

Aziraphale was blushing, that lovely shade of red he went when he was flustered or caught off-guard. Crowley, knowing he was unlikely to get away with it with his mother, but wanting to try and avoid making Aziraphale any more uncomfortable that he already was, ducked his head and placed a chaste and gentle kiss high on Aziraphale’s cheekbone. When he pulled back his friend’s flush had grown, a smile was tugging at his mouth and he was averting his eyes as if shy; but Crowley’s mother was scowling. 

“Oh honestly Anthony, give him a _ proper _ kiss, come along,” she pressed because of course she did. 

“Mum seriously, I mean - ” Crowley started to protest, only to be cut off by Aziraphale’s hand on his cheek, bringing him down to meet Aziraphale’s lips properly. 

It occurred to Crowley fairly quickly that actually, they’d never done this before. This was not the chaste pecks they’d shared in the past under mistletoe, nor was it like the clumsy unpracticed kisses they’d shared as teenagers playing poorly thought out drinking games. In fact it was something else entirely. 

Aziraphale’s mouth was just as soft as it looked, Crowley had known that already, but it seemed realer now, more of an urgent fact his mind needed to process: Aziraphale’s lips were soft, they fit against Crowley’s so well it was like they were made to be there, he tasted like the chocolate cake they’d had for dessert, he tucked perfectly into Crowley’s space, his hand cupped Crowley’s face and his thumb brushed over his cheekbone. It was so easy that Crowely let his lips drop open ever so slightly without thinking, only realising what he had done when he felt Aziraphale’s tongue trace over his lower lip. A tease really, as the kiss remained relatively chaste. 

How a chaste kiss could feel like it was flaying you alive Crowley wasn’t sure, yet here he was. 

They lingered and Crowley chose not to think about why, ignoring his own reasons under the knowledge that Aziraphale’s had more to do with Crowley’s mother and her camera than it did with Crowley himself. But that was okay, Aziraphale was his best friend, that was what was important, that was what he couldn’t lose. 

Crowley's mother was smiling like the cat that got the canary when they parted, one hand clutching at her heart, Croowley wasn't even sure she was kidding despite the theatrics.

"I am just so happy that you two are finally _ you two _." She said, Aziraphale blushed, Crowley was suddenly blindsided by how absolutely crushed his mother was going to be when they broke up - because they had to right? They'd never discussed it, but they're weren't really together. They couldn't pretend to date indefinitely, could they? Crowley would be lying if he said the idea wasn't appealing.

No, eventually someone would come along and romance Aziraphale the way he'd always deserved to be romanced and steal him away - at least from the fake relationship, Crowley was secure enough in his friendship with Aziraphale to know that no one would ever steal them away from each other, not really. The thought made his stomach churn, and Crowley internally chiding himself for being possessive over things that weren't even his in the first place.

"Your mother is going to be very upset," Aziraphale said quietly that night, with Crowley tucked up against his side, head pillowed on Aziraphale' shoulder, ready for sleep. They had always been on the same wavelength.

"Yeah," Crowley answered, because what else was there really to say. She was going to be devastated, Crowley had a sinking suspicion they all might be. He'd forgotten, in his annoyance over their nagging, that his family did actually care about him being happy, and they all adored Aziraphale, always had.

"We didn't think this through," Aziraphale said, it wasn't a rebuke, but it was clearly a regret, and Crowley felt immediately guilty.

"We never think anything through," Crowley said, Aziraphale huffed, half amused half frustrated, Crowley would take half amused right now. "We can worry about it later, no sense losing sleep over it now. Who knows, you could do something awful and make them all hate you before the end of the month." it was impossible, and they both knew it.

"I suppose, goodnight dear." Aziraphale said, pressing a kiss to the top of Crowley's head.

"Night angel," Crowley replied, returning the kiss to Aziraphale's shoulder, his skin pleasantly warm beneath his lips.

The rest of that first week was both eventful and uneventful. They all fell into a rhythm and braved Mother Crowley's exhausting list of family activities, including but not limited to; hiking, surfing lessons, a day-long beach volleyball competition, canoeing, raft building and scavenger hunting. When his mother had had time to set up a scavenger hunt Crowley had no idea, probably when she was insisting the rest of them 'learn to surf' - none of them managed it, just like last time, and the time before, and the time before that.

By the time they'd been there for a week, Aziraphale had a near permanent smile on his face, but he also looked entirely exhausted and like one more day of heavy activity might just send him into a coma, no matter how much he enjoyed it.

"Mum, Aziraphale is really tired, can we beg out of the activities for the day?" Crowley asked the next morning, having left Aziraphale sound asleep in bed.

"Of course dear, you boys haven't had any alone time since you got here I'm sorry."

"Don't be, Aziraphale is having a great time, he's just tired," Crowley replied, surprising himself with how honest a reply it was. They were enjoying themselves, even if it was exhausting, the family holiday really wasn't so bad with Aziraphale there with him.

"Well, you take care of him," his mother replied, meaningfully, clearly talking about more than the fact that he was currently tired.

"Yeah, I will. We, uh, we take care of each other," Crowley said, and it was entirely true, fake relationship or not, they took care of each other, always had, and always would. 

His mother smiled at him, cupped his cheek like she had when he was small, her expression was complicated, but what Crowley could decipher was relief, and he realised for the first time that underneath all of that nagging and interrogating and meddling in his life; really his mother had just been worried about him.

"I'm so glad honey."

When he got back to the room Aziraphale was still asleep, and Crowley saw no harm in joining him, feeling warm inside when Aziraphale immediately curled back around him, even in his sleep.

Aziraphale was relieved for the day of rest, thanking Crowley for being so thoughtful, but not looking surprised by the fact that he had been.

They mainly pottered around the house together after a decadently indulgent morning in bed, emerging only when Aziraphale's stomach made itself know. Loudly. They made brunch together and the domesticity of it all was so normal for them Crowley barely registered it beyond a 'this is nice'.

They settled in the living room, Aziraphale read and Crowley listened, curled up on the sofa together, breaking to sit in the gareden for a little while, Aziraphale on his hands and knees inspecting all of the plants. Crowley looked out at the view of the beach and was struck by the notion that he had probably never been happier. He could live here, he decided, when he got older and no longer liked the clamour of the city. Move out to the South Downs, maybe even this place. Aziraphale could garden and read and Crowley could watch and listen and occasionally yell at the plants.

It was a nice thought, a nice future to think about.

The next day was a relatively quiet one again, Crowley's mother only having made plans for the evening, though she was being tight-lipped about what exactly those plans were. During the day they went down to the beach, Crowley and Aziraphale agreeing to watch the children at the beach so that his sister and brother-in-law could have some time to themselves.

The kids weren't so bad, mostly content to entertain themselves and Jasper. The only stand out occurrence of the beach trip was the wildly outdated bathing suit Azirapahle was wearing, which looked like it had been plucked directly out of the Victorian age, blue and white stripes and all.

"Angel. Where did you even _ get _ that?" Crowley asked, caught between aghast and surprised by exactly how cute Aziraphale was making it look.

"Don't tease me dear. It's very comfortable, I ordered it from a mens beach wear catalogue. Do you not like it?" Aziraphale asked, looking a little concerned about Crowley's opinion on the matter of whether or not he liked it. It reminded Crowley of when he'd been irrationally worried Aziraphale wouldn't like his middle name.

"It's fine but I mean, why not just get a pair of trunks?" Crowley replied, he felt almost naked by comparison, even though his choice of swimwear was perfectly acceptable and much more of the century. Aziraphale blushed in response, looking down at his lap before answering.

"Oh well you know my dear, I'm not the most confident in my body, I didn't feel comfortable being so on show, that's all," Aziraphale replied, in a rare moment of battered self-confidence, Crowley frowned.

"Who the fuck made you think that?" Crowley asked, taking off his sun glasses just so that Aziraphale could clearly see his expression and what clear confusion he was feeling.

"Think what?"

"That there's anything wrong with your body." Crowley replied, because it was absurd, ludicrous, absolutely unacceptable nonsense that someone would think that, and it was filled Crowley with a special kind of rage to think that someone out there had made Aziraphale feel that way.

"No one specifically, just, I'm a bit _ fluffy _ and that isn't terribly fashionable," Aziraphale said, self-consciousness pouring out of his words in a way Crowley was unused to hearing from him, gently Crowley took Aziraphale's chin in his hand and coaxed him into looking Crowley in the eye.

"Angel, you're perfect. You are, as far as I am concerned, as far as anyone with any taste would be concerned, absolutely perfect. You're a little fluffy? So what, getting cuddled by you is probably the nicest experience I've ever had," Crowley replied firmly.

"I enjoy cuddling with you as well my dear," Aziraphale replied, moving a hand to rest on Crowley's knee. "But you have to admit it isn't considered all that attractive these days."

"It is to me," Crowley answered, before he really thought about it. It was true, of course it was, he made a point of being honest with Aziraphale, his reflex would always be to be honest with him. It made him pause for a moment though, to think, as Aziraphale's breath hitched just slightly.

What did Crowley find attractive? He'd dated a few times, it had never ended well. Jealousy over his relationship with Aziraphale, how much time they spent together, Crowley never really finding a huge amount of comfort or understanding in the presence of someone else. He'd never met anyone he'd rather spend time with than Aziraphale. But thinking about their appearance, there were definitely certain similarities to his friend that Crowley had never considered before.

They had all been just very older than him, most of them had been fair, and they had all carried a little weight. So he had a type. For the first time in his life Crowley realised that Aziraphale was exactly his type. Strange, that he'd never noticed, that he'd pick to date people that looked so much like his friend.

"Really?" Aziraphale asked after a moment, like he was unsure, not sure whether these were the well-meaning but ultimately empty comforting words of a friend, or if they were something else.

"Well, yeah, I mean, I've never dated beanpoles like me have I?" Crowley said, trying to lighten the mood a little, he felt suddenly like he was on the verge of panicking, though he couldn't quite pinpoint why.

"Ah. Yes, that is true," Aziraphale replied, and something in his expression shuttered. Crowley wanted to un-shutter it, but didn't know how, or why it had happened in the first place.

They found out what the evening's activities were when they traipsed the short distance home from the beach with nice, nephew and loyal dog in tow, as his mother accosted them as soon as they entered the house, telling them put on the nicest clothes they had bought and be ready to leave in an hour.

Quick showers and fifty minutes later, Crowley found himself straightening Aziraphale's perfectly straight bowtie while Aziraphale brushed likely imaginary lint off of Crowley's shoulders.

"What do you think she is cooking up?" Aziraphale asked when he was satisfied with Crowley's appearance.

"I dread to think," Crowley sighed, his mother meant well, but she was renowned for getting a little carried away with herself. He should thank her though, Aziraphale always dressed smartly, sweater vests and neatly pressed pants and nice jackets, but seeing him in a suit was a rare treat that Crowley intended to savour. How his friend could pull of cream so easily Crowley would never know.

"Well, only one way to find out," Aziraphale said, holding out a hand for Crowley to take and leading him back downstairs.

Downstairs where they found a Robert and the kids in their pyjamas and everyone else - that being themselves, his mother and father, and Tilly and her husband - dressed to the nines.

"I already don't like this," Crowley muttered, unfortunately loud enough for his mother to hear.

"Anthony don't be grumpy, we're going dancing, it will be quite lovely I'm sure," she berated him, Crowley groaned.

"Mother we're _ so bad _ at dancing," Crowley complained, as Aziraphale chuckled next to him. They'd been each others plus ones to weddings since they started getting invited to weddings, they'd danced together before,so Crowley knew just how rubbish they were. Toes got trod on, they were never sure who was leading, and absolutely nothing was done to a beat.

"Well, perhaps you shall learn," she replied primly and Crowley considered for a moment that a dancing lesson would probably be a special kind of horror, Crowley hated feeling incompetent, probably because he had felt incompetent for most of his life.

"Come dear, it sounds nice," Aziraphale said softly, and Crowley had to admit, dancing the evening away with him didn't sound like such a bad deal.

"I suppose not," Crowley agreed, it made Aziraphale smile sweetly, in that way of his.

Thankfully, it was not a dancing lesson. Just a restaurant-come-club, one of the few aimed at adults instead of teenagers and twenty-somethings, with a beautiful deck overlooking the sea.

They ate first, Aziraphale absolutely thrilled by the quality of the food. He could never narrow down his choices to one, so Crowley invariably ordered one of the things Aziraphale wanted to try so that he didn't have to miss out, stealing bites from Crowley's plate as often as his own. It felt almost like they were back at The Ritz, just thankfully without a nosy maître'd making eyes at Aziraphale.

There was live music playing, nothing Aziraphale would be able to categorise as 'bebop' at least, more classical music, the kind you might expect to be used during a first dance at a wedding. Well, Crowley thought, Aziraphale was almost wearing white, the thought was amusing, but it also left a strange feeling in his chest.

They danced, and they were rubbish, for a while trying and failing to dance as proficiently as the other people in the hall.

"My dear, I think if we want any toes left between us before the night is over we might want to rethink our technique," Aziraphale murmured after Crowley stepped on his foot yet again.

"We can't suddenly know how to dance," Crowley muttered back, watching their feet more than Aziraphale's face as they moved to try and avoid collisions, which was a shame, Aziraphale looked almost otherworldly in the moonlight.

"No, but we could just..." Aziraphale trailed off, pulling Crowley closer to him. "Just, here." He said, tucking his head into Crowley's shoulder and changing their clumsy steps for a more sedate swaying together.

"Oh," Crowley said, loquaciously. He moved his hands from Aziraphale's waist, wrapped them firmly around him instead, feeling warm as Azirapahle wrapped his arms around Crowley in return.

It probably couldn't really be classed as dancing, but they were moving together and no ones toes were being squashed. It was nice, better than nice, Crowley needed more adjectives. It made him feel the way being held by Aziraphale during the night did. Safe, content, loved.

"Your mother is watching us," Aziraphale murmured some point during the evening, it was easy to lose track of time like this.

"She does that."

"Perhaps she's suspicious." Aziraphale said, tentative.

"Maybe," Crowley agreed.

"Here, may I?" Aziraphale asked, pulling back just slightly, just enough to catch Crowley's eyes, cup his cheek, telegraph his intention.

"Yeah," Crowley replied, his throat felt dry, even as Aziraphale placed a gentle kiss against his lips.

She wasn't suspicious, they both knew it. She was utterly and completely convinced. She was elated, probably planning the wedding. She didn't need convincing. But they kissed, and they lingered anyway. Crowley had always loved the way Aziraphale smelled, liked the way the embrace and the kiss made him feel surrounded by Aziraphale.

Aziraphale was the one who pulled away first.

"There," he said, smiling a little, before resting his head back on Crowley's shoulder.

Eventually the club shut and they all threw in together on a taxi, no one left with enough energy to walk back to the cottage, even if it really wasn't that far away. Crowley was listing, Aziraphale propping him up the whole way home, letting Crowley lean on him in the taxi, not complaining about the way Crowley's face was pressed into his neck, in fact he slung an arm around Crowley, kept him close.

Crowley barely remembered getting into bed, Aziraphale undressed him, wrestled him into his pyjama pants before apparently giving up on getting him into the shirt, he hadn't been being that helpful. He spooned up behind Crowley as soon as they hit the pillows, and Crowley was asleep in seconds.

Crowley was comfortable when he woke, warm and with the feeling of Aziraphale pressed up behind him, arm slung over his waist, holding him tight and close. He was in danger of getting used to it, he was going to be loathe to give it up when they returned to London.

Before he was really cognisant or conscious Crowley snuggled down into the embrace and the bedding, rolling his hips against the sheets and his arse back against the heat behind him, shivering at the pleasure that tingled up his spine at the friction. He made a noise in the back of his throat and moved again, it made the arms around him tighten, a content noise, Aziraphale to pressed closer against his back.

Aziraphale.

Crowley's eyes shot open, wide awake and viscerally aware of the morning wood he was pressing into the sheets, the way he'd rolled his hips, trying to get friction on his dick and pressing his arse back against Aziraphale's crotch.

Aziraphale, who was still asleep, still had hold of Crowley, and was answering his sleepy grinding in kind, rolling his hips against Crowley's arse, where he could feel his friend's interest growing.

His friend.

His best friend.

This wasn't.

He didn't.

Crowley tried to remain calm, took a steadying breath and tried to lift Aziraphale's arm. He had to get to the bathroom, if he could get to the bathroom without waking Aziraphale then he could freak out in peace and without alerting his friend. 

Sleeping Aziraphale wasn’t letting go easily though, grumbling in his sleep, holding Crowley tighter when he tried to slip away, he rocked his slowly hardening cock against Crowley’s arse and Crowley’s cock throbbed. Crowley was mortified, Aziraphale didn’t know what was happening, he was asleep, probably have a nice dream about someone he’d much rather have in his bed than Crowley, whereas Crowley knew exactly what was happening and still he was hard. He wanted - . 

He wanted. 

And Crowley wasn’t sure how to process that. So with renewed determination he slipped out of the bed, ignoring the dissatisfied sound his sleeping friend made and dashed to the ensuite. Where he promptly employed every self-distracting technique he knew in an attempt to stave off the panic licking at his heels. He was only moderately successful, because usually he distracted himself from whatever it was causing him stress with thoughts of Aziraphale; what they'd get at The Ritz that night, how long they'd spend in the park, what Aziraphale might read to him that afternoon.

Difficult to distract yourself from someone by thinking of them, oddly enough.

Crowley turned on the shower and sat down on the floor, thinking back to their university days, before they'd built up their impressive tolerance to wine and how often the pair of them had ended up on the floor of their shared bathroom for the night. Also not a helpful thought.

Crowley remembered one particular eventful night, when he'd felt like death would have been a sweet release from the churning in his stomach, and Aziraphale had chuckled at him and rubbed circles into his stomach and spent the night on that horrid bathroom floor even though he had felt mostly fine, having joined the festivities a bit late. In the past, when Crowley's gut had clenched thinking about that memory, he'd attributed it to a visceral memory of how awful he had felt that night.

But he thought about it through this new, terrifying lens of discovery and wondered if that wasn't the case at all. When he thought about that night he didn't think about how ill he'd been, he thought about Aziraphale's soft hand on his roiling stomach, about the friend that stayed up all night to make sure he was okay, about waking up with the opposing sensations of his head pounding and his head pillowed on Aziraphale's arm.

With a heavy gulp, Crowley tentatively admitted to himself that perhaps it wasn't the memory of too much alcohol that made his gut feel strange when remembering that night.

A tentative admittance, that lead to a veritable avalanche of realisations and feelings. Because it was Aziraphale wasn't it, just about everything in Crowley's life that he cared about at all was Aziraphale. His own mother had apparently believed they'd been together for years. His days revolved around counting down the time until he saw him again, he looked forward to meeting Aziraphale in the park and feeding some stupid ducks more than he did about promotions and new cars and who ever he might have been seeing at the time. And wasn't that a pretty big clue.

Crowley remembered the three relationships Aziraphale had had since he'd met him and swallowed guiltily. He'd never liked them, had never had a very good reason not to like them, he'd been annoyed when Aziraphale spent time with them rather than him, made it his mission to make sure Aziraphale enjoyed his time spent with Crowley more than with his man of the moment. There had always been a strange tightness in his chest when he thought about those three men, perfectly charming, eligible bachelors that Crowley had hated. It felt damming, to think back on now.

But it couldn't be true, could it. He'd known Aziraphale since he was barely a teenager, he couldn't possibly have gone this far and this long in life without realising that he was absolutely in love with his best friend, could he? That seemed dumb and oblivious, even by his own standards.

But then, it was difficult to remember a time before Aziraphale, honestly, how much did someone remember about their childhood by the time they reached forty? His real memories pretty much start with the inclusion of Aziraphale in his life. They'd been fast friends, despite the oddity of school friends in different years they'd made it work, and it had worked, right from that very first day, and it had continued to work, flawlessly and seamlessly for almost thirty years.

Crowley spared a moment to try and pinpoint when it was he had fallen arse over tit in love with his best friend - because here in the privacy of the bathroom with a locked door between him and the object of his crisis, he could admit that was what it was - and he couldn't find it, no matter how hard he looked, he couldn't remember a time when he _ hadn't _ loved Aziaphale.

Even when he was thirteen years old and showing the new boy around the school only to find that he'd given his lunch money to a girl who had had hers stolen by the school bullies. Even on the second day when he'd bought in a second packed lunch and given it to him, and the absolutely beaming smile Aziraphale had given him in return, and the way that had made his stomach flip and spin. Oh, Crowley had thought at the time, this is what it feels like to have a friend. He hadn't even known he was gay by thirteen.

Oh. That's why then.

He'd been in love with Aziraphale before he knew what having a friend should feel like, before he'd acknowledged to himself or anyone else that actually he didn't want to dance with girls at the school disco. He'd never realised, because it had been his constant state since before he'd considered what falling in love might feel like. He'd always just thought that the deep, visceral, all encompassing way he felt about Aziraphale was just how everyone felt about their best friend.

For the first time Crowley considered that the way he felt about his best friend was not in fact the way most people felt about their best friend.

It was something of a revelation for a blissful moment, before it because a horrifying and life ruining realisation.

If Aziraphale didn't feel the same - and Crowley had to assume he didn't or almost thirty years would surely not have passed between them without it coming up - then he was very much at risk of fucking up everything they had together.

And that was simply not a thought that Crowley could tolerate, not even for a second.

So Aziraphale couldn't know. That wasn't so bad, Crowley had done harder things in his life than keeping a secret from Aziraphale. Actually, he'd never kept a secret from Aziraphale, not intentionally, so he wouldn't know, perhaps it would be the hardest thing he'd ever done.

Regardless, he'd have to find a way. The last thing he wanted was to lose his friend, he'd much rather live his life just a tiny bit lovesick and heartbroken than scare off Aziraphale with his unwanted extra-feelings. Because honestly, he'd been waiting his whole life for Aziraphale to realise he could do so much better than Crowley for a best friend, he didn't want to give him a reason to finally realise that.

Scraping himself off the bathroom floor - much harder to do alone, he discovered for the first time - Crowley turned his mind to the current predicament. It was less than ideal, but he had most certainly brought it upon himself via lies and obliviousness. But he could deal with it, there was no need for anything that he had realised on this windy coastal morning to blow over into any other aspect of his life. All he had to do, was what he'd been doing already.

Conceal don't feel. Crowley could do this, how hard could it be?

It was possibly the hardest thing Crowley had ever done. And it was only breakfast. Had the two of them always been this touchy? Because at the table Crowley was munching on some toast and an adorably sleep rumpled barely-awake Aziraphale had his head resting on Crowley's shoulder while he waited for his tea to cool enough to drag him into the waking world.

His breath was ghosting over Crowley's collar bone, his hair was tickling his chin, and Crowley had really had no choice but to wrap an arm around him to make him more comfortable and he had felt - _ felt! _ \- Aziraphale's little smile against his skin at the action. His suit-y pyjamas were slightly skewed from the way he was leaning on Crowley and the pale skin of his shoulder was taunting him cruelly.

But Crowley knew for a fact, that most mornings of this trip, and a fair few hungover mornings back at his flat, had started exactly in this way. How he had never noticed before the burning desire to drop a kiss into Aziraphale's hair before, he would never know.

Actually, he did know, because on a thought Crowley realised that actually he'd never resisted before, he'd just dropped kisses into Aziraphale's hair as he had seen fit and without a second thought.

Imagine! Kissing Aziraphale without a second thought! Crowley's past self suddenly felt like some kind of alien.

"Are you alright dear? You feel a bit stiff." Aziraphale asked after a few moments.

"I, uh, slept on my neck funny last night. Hurt it a bit." Crowley gave as a lame excuse, regretting it as soon as Aziraphale pulled back, looking at him with sleepy, concerned eyes.

"Oh? You should have said something, was it me? You can always wake me if I've stuck you in an awkward position," Aziraphale said, hand squeezing Crowley's knee exactly like he had countless other times in their lives, but which now sent electric sparks shooting straight up Crowley's thigh.

"No, it's fine. Nothing serious."

"Still, you should wake me, if you are uncomfortable," Aziraphale frowned, and Crowley had a moment of abject fear at the idea that this might make Aziraphale not want to cuddle him at night anymore, and he fully intended to enjoy that for as long as it was permitted of him.

"I wasn't uncomfortable," Crowley replied awkwardly, "I just woke up a bit funny."

"Hmm, well you tell me if it's still bothering you later and I'll see if I can give you a massage?" Azirapahle offered and Crowley genuinely spared a thought for whether or not he had died, but figured as he couldn't work out if this would be heaven or hell, it was probably just earth.

"Sure," Crowley replied, his voice sounding weird to his own ears. It wouldn't even be the first time Aziraphale had given him a neck massage, but it would be the first time Crowley was actually aware of things, such as his own glaring feelings.

But Aziraphale must not have noticed the slightly strained intonation in his voice, or if he did, he just attributed it to his supposedly cricked neck, because he just smiled and went back to his tea.

It was a warm and relatively wind-free day - a rarity - so Crowley's mother decided it was best used as a beach day, and everyone agreed. They would have gone even if everyone disagreed, but it was still nice for everyone to be properly on-board with a plan.

They'd all seen Aziraphale's extremely out-dated beach-wear before, but that didn't save him from the friendly ribbing dished out by the Crowleys, but he bore it with a smile and good-natured chuckles, as he did with most things. Crowley spared a thought for how long he'd been looking at Aziraphale like he hung the moon and found the answer he expected; forever.

His mother was apparently out to get him though, because that evening she surprised the pair of them with a reservation at some small, intimate and expensive restaurant in town, so that they could enjoy some time away from everyone else. It was very thoughtful, and his mother was only working off the lie Crowley had fed to her, and really it was quite a lovely thing for her to have done. But Crowley was busy dying inside and the idea of gazing at Aziraphale over candlelight and sharing food with him right now felt like a special kind of torture. If torture could be enjoyable in a masochistic kind of way anyway, because as much as Crowley's heart might now be trying to thump its way out of his chest whenever he looked at Aziraphale, he had also developed a newfound adoration for looking at Aziraphale, which he'd somehow been oblivious to before.

Aziraphale fussed for a little while as they were dressing for dinner, that he hadn't bought more than one smart outfit - as if he was ever scruffy - so he had to wear the same thing he had worn dancing, Crowley just smiled and rolled his eyes, foregoing a tie as he always did because ties were for balding middle age business men, not for stylish not-quite-middle-aged-yet-hopefully realtor with a full head of thick hair.

Or so Crowley thought anyway. He also thought that just about the only person who could get away with wearing a bow tie unironically was Aziraphale, though he could now admit that he was extremely biased on the matter.

"Oh, don't you to look so perfect together," his mother cooed, beginning an onslaught with her camera again.

Crowley couldn't help his smile, he _ liked _ that they looked perfect together, he just wondered if Aziraphale thought the same thing, and tried not to fixate on the dwindling hope that if he did it was from more than just their friendship.

Aziraphale held his hand, because Aziraphale was nothing if not committed to helping Crowley out with this lie he'd told his family that he was rather regretting telling - or at least, that he was rather regretting was a lie in the first place. Though thinking about it, them holding hands had hardly been out of character for them, even before coming down to the cottage. He'd just never known things he knew now.

Knowledge is a burden, ignorance was bliss, Eve was an idiot for biting that apple.

The restaurant was beautiful, the wine menu was a godsend, and the little candles that were throwing out dim light over the place for the most suitable romantic ambience had bathed Aziraphale in this warm glow that made him look so soft and sweet that Crowley wanted nothing more than to curl up next to him. That wouldn't even be out of character, Aziraphale likely wouldn't think _ anything _ of it, and somehow that was what made it worse.

Aziraphale squealed in delight over just about every bite he took, and Crowley ordered the dish that Aziraphale was caught between but hadn't chosen, which had won him one of those heart-melting smiles and a squeeze to his hand.

Dessert was a particular challenge, because apparently Crowley wasn't suffering enough.

Aziraphale had ordered a cheesecake, which was fine, the cheesecake was not the culprit here; the large dollop of ice cream sat next to it _ however _.

Crowley was loosing his _ mind _as Aziraphale licked and sucked the ice cream off the spoon, caught between staring with his mouth agape and his pupils no doubt blown as wide as they would go, and ruthlessly trying to keep his thoughts away from the paths that could potentially destroy the best relationship in his life.

"You're rather quiet tonight," Aziraphale said thoughtfully, while thoughtlessly running his tongue over the curve of the spoon to pick up the last of the dessert and ruin what was left of Crowley'd concentration. He only realised he was complete fixed on Aziraphale's mouth when his friend spoke, snapping him out of it and bringing his eyes up - because they had apparently been _ down _ and _ staring _.

"Uh, have I? Just tired I guess," Crowley hedged, feeling immediately bad about hedging with Aziraphale when Aziraphale gave him a very gently disappointed look. Someone who didn't know him so well wouldn't have even spotted the micro-expression, let alone recognised it for what it was. But then no one knew Aziraphale like Crowley did.

"You seem distracted, want to tell me what's on your mind dear?" Aziraphale implored him, tangling their fingers together and giving them a squeeze that somehow said; _ you can tell me, you can tell me anything, you know you can my dear _.

Crowley used his free hand to take a gulp of his wine - he had been aiming for a sip but it turned into a gulp without his consent - because his throat was dry and he needed to stall for time to think of something to say. And honestly at this point he could use the alcohol, even if it was their second bottle and therefore inadvisable.

"Nothing important," Crowley said with a smile that he was fairly sure looked more like a grimace. It was a barefaced lie to, as if Aziraphale could ever be 'nothing important'.

"Whatever it is, you can tell me," Aziraphale assured him, looking him so deeply in the eye that Crowley half thought he was going to be able to see his thoughts and thus recoil in disgust immediately.

Except no, Aziraphale would never recoil in disgust, Crowley knew him better than that. Aziraphale would give him a sad smile, tell him it was okay even though it wasn't, gently explain to him that he didn't feel the same and then careful put a distance between them that had never been there before, to extricate himself from Crowley's unwanted extra feelings. 

Crowley would prefer the recoil if he was being honest.

"I know," Crowley said, with a smile that he prayed didn't look strained. Aziraphale didn't look convinced, but he let it slide, and when he ordered a third bottle of wine for them to share before leaving, Crowley didn't protest; because he never said no to wine, and he never said no to Aziraphale.

It meant that they stumbled more than walked back to the cottage, long past when everyone else had gone to bed, leaning on each other and chuckling down the road. There was a nip in the air, because while it was summer, it was summer on the English coast, so Aziraphale was trying to burrow himself into Crowley's jacket, despite the fact that there was no way it would ever fit the pair of them, given that it was hardly baggy - Crowley didn't do _ baggy _. 

"Ahh," Aziraphale yelped as he stumbled over the threshold.

"Shhhhhh," Crowley replied sloppily, if asked, he would deny being a sloppy drunk. He tugged Aziraphale up from where he was half fallen against the wall and bundled them both towards the stairs.

"Sorry," Aziraphale whispered, and thankfully it was actually at whisper volume, not usual drunk person whisper volume, so didn't wake up the whole house. In a less drunken moment, Crowley would be glad that the cottage was rather large, and therefore spacious, making them much less likely to wake any of his family up in their drunken stumbling around.

They made it up the stairs, somehow, and mostly upright. They even selected the correct door to trip inelegantly into, Azirapahle wiggling out of Crowley's hold to crash face first down on the bed, letting out a heaving sigh as he did so.

"Move over," Crowley grumbled, tossing his shoes off an into a corner of the room, a surviving sensible part of his brain informing him that his mother was going to tell them off for wearing their shoes past the downstairs hallway, but that seemed like a problem for morning Crowley.

Aziraphale did not move, so Crowley flopped down on the bed, also face first, half draped over his friend. Aziraphale said something entirely muffled by the bedding and flapped an arm around ineffectually. After this long, the pair of them did have a kind of shorthand, but they weren't actually telepathic, and Crowley had absolutely no idea what Aziraphale was trying to say to him.

"Can't hear you angel," Crowley said, somewhat rolling off of Aziraphale. His friend shuffled onto his side, leaving them facing each other, Crowley's arm draped over Aziraphale's shoulders, his leg over Aziraphale's hip, and his mouth suddenly dry.

"You could hear me, you just couldn't understand me," Aziraphale corrected, far too logical for one and a half bottles of wine each.

"Po-tay-toh, po-tat-oh," Crowley shrugged in response, awkward because of the way that he was laying, but effective enough, it made Aziraphale smile anyway, and bop him on the end of the nose, of all things. "What did you say anyway?"

"Hmm? Jus' that we shouldn't sleep in our clothes. 'S uncomfortable," Aziraphale slurred his words just slightly, just enough to be cute rather than incoherent. Crowley smiled because his friend was cute, and he hadn't really processed the immediate implications of his words. Processing anything right now seemed like a bit of a large task. The processing started when Aziraphale started struggling his way out of his jacket without so much as sitting up.

"W-what are you doing?" Crowley squeaked, hoping the quaver in his voice would be handily put down to the alcohol currently fogging up the windscreen of his brain.

"Getting undressed," Aziraphale replied, matter-of-factly. "Sleeping in proper clothes is no fun. Help me."

Crowley did as Aziraphale asked him mostly on reflex, reaching out and holding on to the sleeve of Aziraphale's jacket so he could escape it's confines. Aziraphale then tugged off his bowtie, enlisted Crowley's help to get his sweater vest off, and started fumbling in an uncoordinated fashion with the buttons of his shirt while Crowley watched with wide unblinking eyes.

"You're not being any help," Aziraphale grumbled, with a rare pout as his fingers refused to work a button, having thrown off their usual dexterity about half a bottle ago. Crowley reached out to help him and tried not to think too hard about what he was doing, but he knew he was either too drunk for this, or not nearly drunk enough. Definitely one or the other.

Aziraphale's hands fell to Crowley's chest as Crowley determinedly slipped the buttons of Aziraphale's shirt free, just a natural place for them to land, Crowley supposed, not why he hoped Aziraphale would touch his chest in the newly discovered recesses of his mind. Aziraphale was wearing an undershirt, and Crowley wasn't sure if he was relieved or annoyed.

He didn't have time to wonder, as Aziraphale then quietly enlisted Crowley's help once again, this time to shuffle out of the sleeves of his smart shirt, and then to tug the undershirt over his head, discarding it over the side of the bed like it was nothing, like it hadn't been the sole thing helping Crowley to hold on to his sanity.

Aziraphale's chest was soft, undefined and slightly barrelled. Crowley wanted to reach out and touch it, he would bet that his skin was warm to the touch. He wondered if he would get away with it, because they were friends, because they were drunk, but he didn't want it to be something that he 'got away with', he would never do something like that to Aziraphale, he just wanted Aziraphale to want him to. He wanted to run his fingers over the dusty pink of Aziraphale's nipples, see if they would perk up under the attention, see if Aziraphale liked it, if he would push his chest into the touch.

Crowley swallowed thickly, feeling his cock stirring just at the thought in his uncomfortable trousers, he quickly averted his eyes, looking at Aziraphale's face instead. It didn't help, Aziraphale had a light flush over his cheeks, from the alcohol, Crowley supposed, and was chewing at his lower lip, that had been rosy before he started his gnawing, but now that lower lip was just begging to be kissed.

"You should take yours off too, get more comfortable," Aziraphale whispered, and Crowley noticed how very quiet they had gone, how still the air around them felt, how charged the moment. Then he tried to tell his drunken brain to stop pulling tricks on him, it wasn't nice and it wasn't fair. His friend just wanted him to be comfortable, probably so that he would fidget less while they slept, and because spooning up against a tastefully studded jacket would not be comfortable.

"Yeah, okay," Crowley agreed, beginning to struggle with his own jacket, stuttering in his movements as Aziraphale helped him to slip the article down his arms. It was a mockery, exactly what Crowley wanted in completely the wrong context. But Aziraphale's hands on him were soft, running down his arms to push away the jacket.

Crowley's pulse jumped as Aziraphale loosened and discarded his tie, his fingers trailing over Crowley's neck in a way that felt deliberate to Crowley's ever-hopeful brain, but was probably just drunkenness, before finding his top button and slipping it free.

"Is this okay?" Aziraphale asked, his voice sounded heavy in the quiet, Crowley shuffled the tiniest bit closer and wondered why it wouldn't be okay, he'd just done the same for Aziraphale after all.

"Yes," Crowley whispered back, not wanting to break the strange feeling that had settled in the air, it felt fragile.

Aziraphale slipped the rest of his buttons free, before pushing the shirt off of Crowley's shoulders, flicking it off the side of the bed and resting a hand against Crowley's now bare chest. Only, it didn't really rest, as Aziraphale trailed his fingers up and down Crowley's pale skin, almost like he was petting him, or exploring, perhaps. Crowley's somewhat addled brain couldn't fathom it; he was fairly sure his un-addled brain would not be able to either.

They lay like that for a while, Crowley all but holding his breath as Aziraphale's fingers danced over his skin. A noise escaped him, too loud in the quiet room, when the tips of Aziraphale's fingers brushed across his nipples; even if he felt he could speak, he wouldn't bother trying to claim that they were peaked from the cold instead of Aziraphale's attention. His friend looked at at him, his faced asked _ still okay? _, and Crowley could feel his dick taking interest, but he nodded, biting on his lower lip and wondering when exactly he had fallen asleep and slipped into a dream.

Except he knew it wasn't a dream, his dreams were never tactile, and Aziraphale was being so very tactile right now. He answered Crowley's nod with a smile and ducked his head forward, placing a kiss right over Crowley's wildly thumping heart before starting a trail with his lips, over his clavicle, his neck, his jaw, before drawing Crowley into a kiss, chaste and sweet and everything Crowley had assumed he wasn't allowed to have.

"Are we - "

"Shh," Aziraphale interrupted, successfully quieting Crowley with another kiss, that was a good as yes as any to the question that had been so burning it had slipped from his mouth despite feeling like he had no voice. Aziraphale tasted sweet, and like the wine that was making them both loose.

Aziraphale's hands moved again, his mouth on Crowley's was distracting, but not enough to stop him from noticing those hands, playing with the dusting of hair that led a path down to his stirring cock, a path which Aziraphale followed until his fingers were tapping against his belt buckle. It was a question, Crowley answered by hitching his hips forward.

Aziraphale understood him, because Aziraphale always understood him and unfastened his belt, discarding it to join Crowley's shirt over the side of the bed. Aziraphale's hands - Crowley was becoming obsessed with his hands - fumbled a little from drink, but didn't hesitate as he drew down Crowley's fly, opening his trousers wide and sliding his hand into Crowley's underwear, wrapping around Crowley's now throbbing cock.

The touch was like coming into contact with a live wire, jolted Crowley out of the strange daze he had been in since they had fallen into bed. He groaned out, breaking the kiss only to smother the noise better in Aziraphale's shoulder, flushing with love and embarrassment simultaneously at Aziraphae's deep and slow chuckle. Seeminly brought to life by the touch, Crowley couldn't work out why he wasn't touching Aziraphale in return, battling inelegantly with the fastenings on Aziraphale's trousers, while Aziraphale leisurely toyed with his cock, running his fingers along his shaft, teasing the lightest of touches at the head, trailing over his balls, as if he was trying to map Crowley by touch alone. Crowley wasn't an idiot, he would let him of course.

Eventually, Crowley won his battle with Aziraphale's trousers, huffing in victory, delighting in the sigh that dripped from Aziraphale's lips as Crowley mirrored him, curling a hand around Aziraphale's thick cock and stroking it slowly, sharing hot breath between them.

"Oh, my dear," Aziraphale half moaned as Crowley ran his palm over the head of his dick, already stick with pre and making his mouth water.

"What do you want?" Crowley asked, panted, because even with just a hand Aziraphale was better than any lover he had taken in the past.

"I want to see you," Aziraphale replied, allowing Crowley to pull back from his embrace just slightly, so that they could struggle with their trousers and underwear, flinging it without ceremony towards the floor after the full bodied grapple of getting it off their feet.

When Crowley looked up, they were grinning at each other, perhaps it should have ruined the moment, but it didn't somehow, enhancing it instead, making it all the easier to fall back into Aziraphale's arms.

"You're so beautiful, I always knew you would be," Aziraphale whispered, taking Crowley in hand again, smiling as he flushed from the compliment, whined and pressed closer, let his legs fall open in clear invitation, and one that Aziraphale was not shy to take, settling over Crowley like he belonged there.

From where Crowley was sitting - lying - Aziraphale was the beautiful one. He lit up every room he was in. His fair hair was in a mess, his lips were even redder than usual from kissing, his chest was large and firm and dusted with hair, his sides were soft, his thighs were a pair Crowley wouldn't mind suffocating between, and his cock was thick and hard and fat and _ exactly _ how Crowley liked it.

"So are you," Crowley breathed, even though it felt wildly insufficient, but Aziraphale was smiling at him, wide and indulgent, running his hand down Crowley's cock, moving on to cup and roll his balls in his hand, going further to let a finger circle Crowley's hole; just a tease, just a suggestion, and it had Crowley bucking up, whining for more.

"Would you like that pet?" Aziraphale teased, because it was clear by now that _ yes _ Crowley would like that very much, pre-come weeping freely from his dripping cock, always so sloppy when he was really aroused. "You're so wet," Aziraphale commented, almost sounding in awe, as his hand moved back to Crowley's cock, running up it and circling the head, smearing his hand all over Crowley's leaking slit until he was messy with it.

Crowley's brain short circuited when Aziraphale brought his glistening hand up to his mouth, licked at it and hummed happily.

"And you taste so sweet," Aziraphale praised and Crowley felt himself flush red, his cock pulsing anew, adding to the little puddle already forming on his abdomen, that Aziraphale was watching through lowered eyes, fascinated.

"Please angel," Crowley pleaded, for what he wasn't entirely sure. He wanted everything right now.

"Please what?" Aziraphale asked, eye brow raised, looking the picture of patience and control, despite the angry red colour of his fat cock against his stomach. Crowley wet his lips.

"I-in the bathroom," he said, voice already shaky, "there's some Vaseline..." he trailed off, embarrassed despite it all. Aziraphale gave him that smile again, the new one, full of lust and promises and lusty promises.

"I'll be right back," Aziraphale promised, rising on somewhat unsteady legs and going to the attached bathroom, returning just seconds later with the tub, and climbing back over Crowley, who let his legs fall even wider apart, as if his invitation hadn't already been enthusiastically accepted by his friend.

Aziraphale didn't slick his fingers immediately, much to Crowley's desperate chagrin, but he did start kissing him again, which stoked the fire already burning through his body. First his lips, thoroughly debauching his mouth, then his jaw, his neck, collarbones, chest, abdomen, before licking down that soft trail of hair, moving his aching dick to the side to allow him access.

Aziraphale flicked his eyes up before going further, not letting Crowley escape his eyes - as if he would want to - and he fluttered teasing kisses down the hard length of his cock, made Crowley whimper with a desire for more. It made him think about how much he wanted to get Aziraphale's fat cock in his own mouth, to take all of it until he could scarcely breath and Aziraphale came in messy spurts down his throat.

Just thinking about it had him so desperate he almost wanted to tell Aziraphale to stop, just so that he would have a chance to get him in his mouth tonight; but then Aziraphale dipped lower, his tongue lapping at Crowley's hole, and every thought promptly left his brain.

Sagging back helplessly, Crowley whined out Aziraphale's name, glad for the firm grip Aziraphale had on his legs, otherwise he might have clamped down around him, especially as he kissed and pressed at his hole, Crowley's eyes rolling back in his head as Aziraphale's tongue penetrated him, squeezing through the tight muscle.

Crowley covered his mouth with his arm, frantically muffling the noises Aziraphale was expertly pulling from him as he ate him out expertly, like he already knew all the things Crowley loved, how _ messy _ he liked it, how wet he liked to feel. Crowley wrapped a hand hard around the base of his cock, squeezing and ruthlessly driving off the orgasm that was tightening his balls, which Aziraphale hadn't relented from touching since sealing his mouth over Crowley.

Crowley had no concept of how long it was before Aziraphale pulled back, hand still wrapped around his cock in the fear he would come early, before he had that cock inside of him. They weren't young, he was unlikely to be able to go again that night, and he wanted Aziraphale's cock.

"Oh, what a good boy," Aziraphale praised making Crowley throb anew, when he saw the hand wrapped tight around Crowley's base. "You don't want to come before I'm inside you, do you?" Aziraphale cooed, and Crowley shook his head in confirmation, feeling warm and light inside as Aziraphale praised him again, kissed at his jaw, "so good, so perfect for me."

Aziraphale took pity, waited until Crowley had calmed a little before continuing, finally slicking up his fingers, pressing two into Crowley easily, loose as he already was from Aziraphale's tongue. Aziraphale praised him as he fingered him, methodically searching out his prostate, only to brush it tantalisingly once before avoiding it cruelly; teasing Crowley about coming just from his fingers, clocking the desperate look in Crowley's eyes for what it was.

"But you could, couldn't you. You could come just from my fingers so easily, I wouldn't have to touch your cock, perhaps I wouldn't even have to touch your prostate, just work you over until you came just from being played with; isn't that right?" Aziraphale whispered filthily, Crowley nodded jerkily, feeling like coherent words left him behind at least half an hour ago now. Aziraphale praised him for the admission, apparently already having clocked Crowley's reaction to Aziraphale's praise.

With three and then four fingers, Aziraphale stretched him, obscene noises and Crowley's panting feeling almost deafening in the otherwise quiet room, save for Aziraphale's steady stream of dirty praise. For a while, Crowley wondered if Aziraphale was trying to make good on his words, finger Crowley until he came all over himself, it would happen if they continued, no amount of grabbing himself would be able to stop it if Aziraphale continued for too long.

Finally, When Crowley felt like his hole was gaping from use, despite not having been used at all yet, Aziraphale withdrew his fingers and slicked his cock generously. His cock was thick enough that even despite the thoroughness of Aziraphale's tongue and fingers, Crowley could still feel himself being forced wider around his cock, back arching and Aziraphale kissing him to muffle his pleasured cries as he stretched him.

By the time Aziraphale's hips were flush against Crowley's arse, he wanted to stay like this forever, this delicious, full-bodied feeling of Aziraphale inside him, filling him up so well, surrounding him in a warm embrace, kissing him and murmuring praise about how well Crowley took him, hot good he felt, how long he'd wanted it.

"Please, angel, move," Crowley found his voice to beg Aziraphale, and being a merciful angel, Aziraphale complied immediately, setting up a demanding rhythm as he fucked Crowley hard, hips snapping against Crowley's arse as he pumped in deep purposeful strokes. He found Crowley sweet spot easily, having become intimately acquainted with its whereabouts during his prolonged fingering, kissing away Crowley's moans with every thrust.

"I'm not going to last," Crowley gasped, gripping Aziraphale's shoulders tight, running his nails down Aziraphale's back, he had been on the edge for too long, the liquor wasn't helping either he was sure.

"Don't hold back darling. I am too," Aziraphale panted switching between deep, hard thrusts, and grinding his dick in small circles against Crowley's prostate. "Watching you fall apart, you're so beautiful like this, I was close just watching you."

Crowley's hands tightened at the praise, eyes squeezed shut but shooting open as Aziraphale wrapped a hand around his soaked cock, stroking him firmly and in time with his hips.

"Angel, I'm - " Crowley managed to gasp, before spurting hot come over his chest, Aziraphale swallowing his shouts.

Aziraphale carried on, milking Crowley through his orgasm, carrying on as he became sensitive, when it was clear that Crowley _ loved _ it, clinging to Aziraphale like a rag doll, just begging to be used. It wasn't long before Aziraphale followed, filling Crowley up as he came in his hole, rolling his hips a few more times before collapsing down, half onto Crowley.

For five, maybe ten minutes, they dozed. Crowley could have happily fallen asleep like that, even though he knew he would regret the mess in the morning. But Aziraphale rose, carefully easing his now softened dick out of Crowley's abused hole, Crowley shivered at the feeling of Aziraphale's come starting to drip out of him; if he had been a younger man, if would have been enough to make him hard again.

"Wait here," Aziraphale murmured, as if Crowley was in any fit state to move before the turn of the next century. He returned a moment later with a washcloth, wiping down his cock and Crowley's chest, before gently opening his legs and gingerly cleaning around his hole. Perhaps it should have been embarrassing, but Aziraphale was so obscenely gentle with him, that it was hard to feel anything but safe and cared for.

When Aziraphale was satisfied and climbed back into bed, Crowley fell asleep almost immediately.

The morning was a surreal affair, because at first Crowley's sole concern was his hangover, thumping in his head and making him feel like the sun falling out of the sky wouldn't be so bad after all, basic requirements of life or not. He briefly cursed wine as he always did and swore never to touch the stuff again, which he also always did, but never really meant.

Then his arse twinged when he tried to shuffle, the arms around him and naked body pressed against his back registered, and the situation really sunk in.

They'd been drunk, Aziraphale was always an overly friendly drunk, and Crowley had let his stupid feelings change the way he behaved, and Aziraphale, drunk as he was, had gone along with it. And now he would be lucky if his friend ever looked at him the same again. He would be lucky if he even still _ had _a friend.

Blind panic, was not something Crowley had felt often in his life. When he was little and his sister had fallen into a stream, being dragged unconscious out of the water by an adult that heard him screaming, the time between her slipping and coughing up a lungful of water and dragging in a ragged breath. Hearing about a terror attack in the city, at a location he had known Aziraphale to be that day. Those were the only two that came to mind.

No one's life was in danger this time, thankfully, but blind panic was what he felt.

Perhaps his own life was the one that was at risk, because one in which Aziraphale wasn't his best friend was not one worth considering. And after this, why would Aziraphale still be his friend? Crowley's infatuation had been painfully, embarrassingly, obvious last night. Aziraphale had been drunk and horny, Crowley had been desperate and in love, an Crowley cringed, anxiety spiking, as he thought about how obvious he had been.

Not realising how badly he was shaking, Crowley failed entirely at getting discretely out of bed, nearly falling as he staggered - head reasserting itself as an unhappy customer - and the rest of his body shaking from abject fear.

"What - " Aziraphale grumbled sleepily, and Crowley froze, naked a few feet away from the bed, like a rabbit in the headlights, as Aziraphale blinked open his eyes and looked at Crowley. Looked at Crowley with complete and utter confusion - and why shouldn't he be confused? Clearly Crowley had no place in his bed. "Crowley I - "

"I'm so sorry," Crowley blurted, his desire not to hear whatever pitying, fatal remark was about to come out of Aziraphale's mouth, and he fled to the bathroom with some hastily grabbed clothes.

He threw up in the toilet, ignored Aziraphale's concerned questions - avoidance was a valid technique in all things - and then turned on the shower and sat in the stall like the pathetic excuse for an adult he had turned out to be. After a while, he heard Aziraphale say something about going down to breakfast, but didn't respond, burying his face between his knees and effectively missing whatever Aziraphale had to say next. Probably for the best.

This was his chance and he knew it, Aziraphale wasn't currently in the room, he could exit the shower, grab his clothes and flee the premises.

It occurred to him that that was not a sensible or adult way to deal with anything, and would likely only make Aziraphale more convinced than he probably already was that this friendship couldn't continue, given Crowley's unwelcome infatuation. It occurred to him all the way down the stairs, out the door and along the front path, but fled he still did.

He had left his phone behind, entirely on purpose and half-ran half-walked down to the beach and along the coast randomly - a great positive of the coast was that it was nearly impossible to actually get lost if you just followed the coast. Still, Crowley went far enough to make sure that whilst he wasn't lost, he was exceedingly unlikely to be found either. Then he hired a beach hut for the day just to be sure, and locked himself inside it.

Now the problem with fleeing the house like a teenager and locking yourself in a rentable beach hut all day, was that you couldn't live in a beach hut indefinitely, and therefore spent most of your time worrying about when you eventually had to go back and face the proverbial music. He had enough money on him that he could probably make it back to London on the train, but that would probably just make the whole thing worse.

He felt like he was engaging in Schrodinger's Friendship right now. The whole time he avoided Aziraphale, their friendship was neither ruined nor fine. It seemed like the preferable option.

Aziraphale had enjoyed himself last night, he didn't feel like he had taken advantage of Aziraphale per-say. But Aziraphale had engaged in semi-casual sexual relationships in the past, Crowley remembered them all, in excruciating detail, finally many years after the fact realising why Aziraphale telling him about their relationships had made him feel like he wanted to carve out his heart.

It wasn't something Aziraphale did often, but it _ had _ happened, more than once. In fact on four separate occasions, Aziraphale had mentioned to him that he had started sleeping with some friend or another, that it wasn't romantic, just comforting, just pleasure. So it wasn't exactly a _ shock _ that drunk Aziraphale had decided to get frisky with Crowley, being his friend and as it was something Aziraphale _ did _ with some of his friends.

No, the issue was the fact that Crowley had let his feelings pour out all over the place, and that short of writing sonnets and comparing Aziraphale to summer's days, it was probably about as obvious as it could get. And Aziraphale did wan't that. Crowley knew how those casual relationships of his had ended; with Aziraphale reluctantly telling Crowley that he had had to call the whole thing off, because the bastard in question had began to develop deeper feelings which Aziraphale didn't share, and he didn't want to cause him any pain. They hadn't exactly successfully stayed friends with any of the poor bastards in question.

Crowley was now the poor bastard in question.

So he didn't want to go back, because he knew how it was going to go, he even knew the words Aziraphale would use. _ You're such a lovely person, and have been such a wonderful friend, and we have had fun together haven't we. But I'm afraid I don't want to hurt you inadvertently, so I think it's best we have some space for now, don't you agree? _

Crowley grimaced just thinking about it, and held out in the beach hunt until ten in the evening before heading home. His hangover was gone, but he hardy noticed given how generally wretched his felt.

He walked slowly, like a child who didn't want to go to the dentist but knew they would never get away with really kicking up a fight, and Crowley was stupid enough to run away for the day, but adult enough to know that he was going to have to face his mess at some point.

He wondered what Aziraphale had gotten up to today, his mother had likely entertained him perfectly well. Hopefully she would give them some privacy to talk. Maybe Aziraphale even appreciate the day of respite Crowley had given him by fleeing, enough time to really decide how he was going to let Crowley down easy. thought nothing about this was likely to be easy.

When he got to the cottage, he let himself in, and was immediately assaulted by his mother screeching at him as she stormed down the hallway.

"What have you _ been _," she demanded.

"I - "

"You storm off this morning, no note, no word, _ nothing _ , you just leave! And then you don't come back! Not for _ fifteen hours _, you're lucky we didn't think you were dead. You're lucky I'm not going to kill you myself Anthony James Crowley."

"I didn't - "

"And Aziraphale! I don't know what you did, _ and I am sure you did something _, but you are going to find that lovely man who is frankly far too good for you, and you are going to. Fix. It." She added, so sternly that it genuinely frightened Crowley, forced him to process her words a moment late.

"Wait, find him? Isn't he here?"

"No Anthony, he isn't _ here _ anymore! After you ran off and didn't come back, Aziraphale very quiet packed his things, apologised for the inconvenience, and _ left _."

"Left, left for where?"

"When it became clear we weren't going to be able to stop him from leaving, your father offered to drive him to the station instead of having him walk down these country lanes, because _ some _ people in this family still know a little _ common decency _."

Crowley hadn't factored Aziraphale leaving into his damage control plans for the evening.

"Oh. I need to go. After him, that is," Crowley muttered, dumbly, because he was apparently now only capable of dumb actions.

"You think," he heard his sister snort from the room adjacent, she looked pissed off with him too.

"I've no idea what you two fought about, but unless he's been having an affair then you are going to find him and you are going to fix it," his mother ordered.

It occurred to him in a weird way that his family had no idea they hadn't broken up because they had no idea they had never been together; because what dumbass would lie about something like that. But the idea of telling his mother right now, in the midst of everything else, was not something Crowley was prepared to handle, so he avoided it as he did all things.

"He didn't have an affair," Crowley said, because Aziraphale hadn't, and would never do such a thing to a partner, and Crowley was entirely unsure of what else he could possibly say right now.

"Good. Get out."

Crowley was in the Bentley within minutes, his delightful mother having packed his bags for him. He was permitted to bid Jasper goodbye at least, though even the dog seemed to be mad at him. Nothing like the support of your family during hard times, Crowley thought grimly to himself.

He had a long time to think on the drive back to London, far too much time, stewing in nothing but his own thoughts.

It was late and it was a long drive, and because whilst dying in a firey car wreck did have its appeal in that moment, he didn't actually lust for death, Crowley pulled over at a service station and paid and exorbitant amount for a room to sleep in. He tried to convince himself he wasn't just putting it off a little longer and passed out, it had been an emotionally exhausting day, and tomorrow's forecast was for even worse.

True to form, it was pissing it down with rain the next morning. It felt fitting, at least, but it meant everyone apparently collectively forgot how to drive and crawled along the motorway instead of driving. Perfect, more time alone with his thoughts, more time to imagine how Aziraphale was going to tell him he thinks they need some space. It was mid-morning by the time he got home, parked the car and dashed to the bookshop, only to find it closed.

Not necessarily a sign of anything, some days Aziraphale just didn't want to deal with customers, so didn't open the shop. Crowley let himself in with the key Aziraphale had given him years ago, and tried not to think about whether or not Aziraphale would ask for it back. He called out, but got no answer, and a sweep of the premises confirmed that Aziraphale was in fact, not here.

Less than ideal, Crowley wasn't keen to have this conversation in public, in front of a potential audience. But his mood had shifted into one of 'ripping off the band-aid' as the Americans say, and he set out to find his friend. He checked The Ritz and the cafes they frequented, knowing Aziraphale getting a spot of breakfast wasn't out of the ordinary, but found him nowhere; so Crowley turned to the only other place they ever went in the mornings, and turned towards St James' Park.

He was there, on their bench, easy to spot from a mile off given that he was the only one mad enough to be sat on a park bench during a torrential downpour. Well, he and his loyal ducks. He held an umbrella up for himself in one hand, and tore off bits of lettuce for the ducks with his other. Crowley had forgotten his umbrella as he always did, too used to being able to huddle under Aziraphale's, and was drenched.

"Hello my dear," Aziraphale said softly, sadly, when Crowley was close, he had been easy to see approach, only two mad fuckers out in this weather.

"Angel. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have run," Crowley said, exactly like he'd been rehearsing for the last day, it was as far as he had gotten with his planning.

"No, you shouldn't have. But it is of no matter, I understand why you did," Aziraphale replied, briefly looking up from his ducks to force a smile, but only briefly. Crowley hated his forced smiles. After a moment of awkward silence, Aziraphale stood, tucking away the lettuce and looking up at Crowley, eyes sad, Crowley wished he had the power to stop them being sad. "I think I need a little space, you understand." Aziraphale said, and there it was.

The bottom dropped out of Crowley stomach as Aziraphale walked past him and away, away away. He had predicted it, but he had somehow still hoped that it wouldn't happen. Blind panic accompanied by blind hope. He also had completely failed at predicting how it would feel.

"Aziraphale, wait," Crowley called out, chasing after Aziraphale when it the feeling seeping through his bones terrified him into action. "Please. Just, please don't leave me," Crowley winced at how desperate he sounded, he should have rehearsed that part as well. "I know, I know I didn't behave well, but the idea of us not being friends anymore, is just, well, shit."

Aziraphale looked at him and smiled sadly again.

“You could never lose me my dear, I treasure your friendship too fiercely to ever let go. But I need a little space for now I think. If I had been bolder or braver, I would have told you earlier. But the truth is I never should have agreed to play at something I desperately wanted to be real, I knew I would only end up hurting myself. But then, I have always been terrible at denying you anything, I love you too much.

"But for you to regret me the way you did, to recoil and panic and run from me - I, it well, it hurt me, even if I expected it. I will always be your friend Crowley, we were both drunk and no one is to blame, but I need time to heal.” Aziraphale explained, as if the things he was saying made sense, and he started to walk away again, while Crowley's lagging brain attempted to make sense of what had just been said.

"...What?" Crowley asked, chest feeling like two leaden bands of dreadful hope were squeezing around his chest. He considered, for a moment, that given that he was a confirmed dumbass, he had been very very wrong.

But Aziraphale was twenty paces away, crossing one of the little bridges, Crowley chased after him, called when he could be heard through the rain, Aziraphale's shoulders tightening but not stopping his steps.

“Aziraphale wait,” Crowley chased after him, dripping from the rain and grabbed hold of Aziraphale’s hand, forcing him to turn. Aziraphale looked pained and Crowley hated it, but he still moved his umbrella to shield Crowley from the downpour and his heart throbbed in his chest. “I love you. I do, I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you so long I didn’t even notice because it’s been my constant state since I was thirteen years old and I was too much of a moron to notice at thirteen that the reason it hurt to look at you sometimes was because I was so completely in love with you it makes my chest ache.

“I didn’t panic because I regretted it, not in the way you think at least. I panicked because I was worried you didn’t want it like I did and I’d messed it up and was terrified that I’d lose you as a friend and I couldn’t let that happen because I don’t know how to exist on this rock without you. It’s not something I’ve had to do for twenty nine years and I’ve no intention of finding out how now." Crowley blurted, inelegantly, and he should probably stop pretending to be anything other than sloppy an inelegant.

"You love me?" Aziraphale asked, tentatively, grip going white on his umbrella.

"Of course I do. It took me too long to notice but you're the only one for me, you always have been, always will be."

"Oh, my dear Crowley." Tears tracked their way down Aziraphale's face, but he was smiling, and not that awful smile from before,but something deep and genuine. It was infectious. "I think we've made quite the mess of this." Aziraphale laughed, contagiously, until they were both laughing, small self-depreciating chuckles that grew slowly into deep guffaws both of them bent almost double, before receeding to gentler hums again.

"Yes, I think we might have." Crowley agreed, smile tugging furiously at the corners of his mouth.

"No matter," Aziraphale said, "We're here now." Crowley beamed, and swept Aziraphale into a kiss in the rain.

They never told his mother about the lie, it was probably for the best.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you again to the awesome [SgtNarlato](http://aminoapps.com/p/uh97p2) for their work and everyone else who participated, making my life very easy by all being on time and on track for the deadlines <3
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the story, comments and kudos make me smile <3


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